


Armiger

by ryfkah



Category: Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 02:59:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryfkah/pseuds/ryfkah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not all pages together anymore, and things are bound to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armiger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kindness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kindness/gifts).



**Swords**

“Practice swords?”  Gary asked, as they turned down the hallway towards the fencing yards.

“No, let’s use our own.”  Jonathan put a hand on the hilt of his sword, hanging in its scabbard over his practice padding.  “None of what we do’s going to be practice much more, is it?”

Gary grinned.  “Thanks for reminding me.  Give me a moment, then, I’ll trade out.”  He ducked back around the corner, and Jon leaned back against the wall.  He didn’t mind waiting.  There weren’t that many of the other squires who would have agreed to spar against him with unblunted blades, no matter how often he protested that they wouldn’t face any consequences for spilling a drop or two of royal blood in the cause of training.  Gary was one of the few he could count on not to throw a fight.

Gary pounded back down the corridor a few minutes later and they set off again, sharing a companionable silence until they took their places across from each other in the sparring yard.  “Speaking of our approaching doom,” he said then, as both drew their swords, “care to make a wager on the outcome?”

“Of the match?  Wait – let’s start first.”  Carrying on a conversation through a sparring match was a good way to make sure the sword forms were drilled into your head on the most basic, instinctive level.  You never knew how split your attention might become during an actual battle.  Jon shifted his feet into an attack stance and lifted his sword.  “Ready, and – guard!”

Gary blocked Jon’s initial blow and moved into a pass, circling around him.  “No – of the Ordeal.  Let’s bet on how many fingers I’ll lose.  Of _course_ of the match.”

Jonathan aimed a strike at him, accompanied by a sharp look – Gary could make jokes of almost anything, but you _didn’t _make a joke of the Ordeal – but he said, “All right, what stakes?”

“Winner –”  Gary moved hastily back to avoid Jonathan’s thrust, then cut his sword in under Jon’s.  “- winner gets first pick of squires.”

“Hah!”  Jonathan pressed forward in a series of passes, pushing Gary back.  “No wager.  You want Alan, but you’re not going to get him.”

“What?”  Gary ducked around Jon, moving so the sun was out of his eyes and shining into the Prince’s face.  “That’s not fair!”

Jonathan squinted into the bright light and put his sword up just in time to guard against Gary’s next blow.  It was a heavy one – Gary’s larger size was beginning to tell in the match, and Jon’s breath was coming harshly now.  “For the sake of the kingdom –”  He feinted, and parried.  “– I have to have the best.”

“Sorry, _your highness,_” gasped Gary.  “But that sounds to me like a load of –”  He dove forward, twisting his blade around, and Jon’s sword flew out of his hands and off to the side of the yard.  Gary grinned, eyes bright under sweat-sticky tendrils of chestnut hair, and put his sword up against the prince’s throat.  “Yield?”

“Yes,” said Jon, and grinned back at his friend along the length of the blade.  “But I still get Alan.  I already told the King.”

Gary glared at him for a moment, and then sighed and lowered his sword.  “It really isn’t fair, you getting the best because you’re the prince,” he complained.  “Iwas his sponsor, wasn’t I?  Doesn’t that get me first claim?” 

Jon just kept grinning and said nothing, and went on saying nothing as Gary turned away and started to wipe the blade.  Over anything more trivial, his friend’s accusations might sting a little, but it was worth being a little bit underhanded to get the best page of the last three years as his squire.

He could still hear Gary muttering under his breath – “What’d Alan have to go and be so flashy for?  Couldn’t use that excuse if he were the _second-_best, could you . . .”  and at that he had to laugh, and make an amendment to his thought: all right, it was worth being a little bit underhanded to get _Alan._

**Arrows**

Alanna wasn’t sure whether she was glad or sorry to find Alex at the archery range when she came down for early practice.  On the one hand, she’d been looking forward to an hour of training on her own, without any pressure except the pressure she put on herself – which admittedly was more than enough these days, now that Jonathan had told her he wanted her for his squire.  On the other hand, Alex was her friend, and she’d hardly seen anything of him recently.  It might be nice to have the chance to actually talk to him for a change.  On the third hand, she’d hardly seen anything of him recently, and never without Gary or Raoul there too.  And the person he’d been spending all his time with was Roger – and she didn’t know what hand that came out to.

“I was almost ready to leave, if you want the range,” Alex said, before she could greet him.

Her mouth decided before her head.  “No, stay – it’s been a long time since I saw you shoot.”  They both knew that what she meant was, ‘it’s been a long time since we’ve seen who shot better. ‘  Alex and Alanna, both among the smallest of the knights-in-training, had been in constant competition since the day she arrived.

Alex hesitated a moment before the familiar saturnine smile flashed across his face.  “All right.”  He went to fetch another quiver of arrows and offered it to her with elaborate mock gallantry.  It made her nervous, and she tried to keep her laugh manly-sounding as she accepted it.

Alanna shot first, grazing but not hitting the centermost ring of the target.  Alex’s arrow went a fingers-breadth next to hers, slightly further away.  He didn’t look pleased, but said lightly, “I guess that’s the arm that impressed Jon.”

Alanna flushed and her next arrow went wide, hitting in the second ring.  Alex smiled slightly and lifted his bow.

“Alex,” said Alanna suddenly, before he could shoot.  “I’ve been wanting to ask you . . ..”

“Mmm?”  Alex released his shot, and it made a near-bullseye.

“Well – you’re the only one of us who’s been squire to royalty before,” Alanna said, awkwardly, and Alex’s head turned towards her.  She picked up an arrow, but rolled it between her fingers instead of nocking it.  “Gary and Raoul could always make time for us, but you spend so much time with Roger.  I’ve been wondering . . . well, if it’s always like that.”  It wasn’t that she minded the prospect of spending so much time with Jon – more the opposite, if anything – but after the easy camaraderie she’d gained as a page, the idea of being as solitary as Alex seemed to be these days was a little daunting.  She’d _earned _her friends.

Alex gave a slight shrug.  “You know what being a squire means,” he said.  “You have to be absolutely loyal.  You have to be everything your knight wants you to be.  So I guess what matters is what you think Jon will ask of you.”

“And Duke Roger asks a lot of you?” asked Alanna impulsively, before she could stop herself.

“Not from his perspective,” said Alex.  Under the cool self-satisfied expression, he looked, for a moment, almost tired.

It was an odd thing to say, Alanna thought.  She frowned.  “But don’t you miss being able to do what you want?”  Don’t you miss _us, _she wanted to ask, but didn’t.

The tired look was gone, and Alex’s face was smooth again.  “It’s a trade-off,” he said, and glanced at the target.  “Isn’t it your shot?”

“Yes,” said Alanna, and hastily nocked her arrow.  It hit right above Alex’s last.  She squinted, but she couldn’t tell which was closest to the center.

**Shields**

Few of the other knights could outlast either Gary or Raoul when sparring in full armor – the combination of youth, size and stamina had certain advantages.  This meant that Gary and Raoul would have been ended up practicing together most of the time even if their friendship hadn’t made the partnership obvious.

But they had been going for a while now, and Gary was tiring.  “I miss sparring against Alex,” he gasped, catching one of Raoul’s blows on the edge of his shield.

“You might as well say you miss sparring against Alan,” Raoul said, amused.  “If you’re going for small.”

“I never sparred against Alan!”  Gary’s indignation gave him a fresh spurt of energy, and he swung a blow towards Raoul’s arm.  A person of Gary’s size matched up with someone as small as the page Alan had been – that would have been excessive even in the name of training.

“It might be –” Raoul’s sword caught Gary’s and twisted it back.  “– a more even match these days.”

“Like we’ll ever get the chance to find out,” grumbled Gary, moving backwards as Raoul started an offensive drive.  They’d fought together so often by now that they could counter each other’s blows easily, as if they’d planned them out in advance.  “Jonathan’s got him wrapped up tighter than my grandmother’s knitting, and neither of them has more than five minutes to talk to us now.”

“He ishis squire,” Raoul pointed out.

“It’s different.”  Gary lifted his shield and gave himself a chance to catch his breath behind it.  “You don’t spend every second of the day with yoursquire, do you?  Mithros, sometimes I even forget I _have _a squire!”

Raoul laughed, as he was supposed to.  Gary pressed his advantage – it was an old trick of his to make his partners laugh in the middle of the match – but Raoul knew to be ready for it, and blocked the blow easily. 

“Even at parties,” Gary went on, aiming some more perfunctory swipes at Raoul’s shield.  His words were oddly punctuated by the consistent clang of metal on metal.  “You wouldn’t think they’d have anything more important to do at parties, would you?  But you can’t say more than a word to Alan before Jon comes up and swoops him off – and you can’t say more than a word to Jon before some princess comes up and swoops _him _off – and while I don’t mind Jon taking all the ladies to himself if he wants, he could at least spare us Alan!  It’s like he doesn’t _want _him talking to us.”

“Look who’s complaining,” grunted Raoul.  “You at least know how to dance.”  Raoul tended to hate every minute of those parties, but he had to admit they would be more bearable if they could spend the time talking comfortably with Alan and Jon instead of trying to make tongue-tied conversation with all the other glittering members of the young nobles’ set. 

“Then you should agree with me,” said Gary.  Raoul didn’t know how Gary had enough breath to talk so much, this late into their match.  He caught yet another one of Gary’s swipes, and Gary made an expression of disgust and put up his sword.  “Nothing gets through you, does it?  I’m ready to call us done for today, how about you?”

“It was a good match,” Raoul said, pulling off his helmet.  His worldview suddenly expanded to both sides, no longer blocked by metal plates.

“Not our best,” admitted Gary.  “Sorry – I guess I was a little distracted.  It’s just –”

“I miss how things used to be, too,” said Raoul.  He could talk more quietly now that he no longer had to pitch his voice over the sounds of the fight.  “We’re not all pages together anymore.  But that doesn’t mean our friendships have to change –”

“Want to wager on it?” said Gary, and sighed.  “Come on, let’s go get a drink.”

Raoul hesitated a moment.  He couldn’t remember too clearly what had happened the last time he’d gone out drinking with the other knights, but it had ended in him getting into a duel with Gary over Delia of Eldorne’s riding glove, of all the pointless things.  It had taken their friendship weeks to recover from what he’d done in a haze – and Jon and Alan and Alex had none of them been so busy and distant as they were now. 

Then again, given all that, maybe he could use a drink after all.

**Horses**

Jonathan and Alanna rode in silence for at least half an hour, and finally Alanna couldn’t take it any more.  “What’s _wrong _with you?”

“What’s wrong with _me_?”

“Yes!  You’re sulking!  It’s stupid!”

“I’m not _sulking._”  Jonathan’s voice was cold.  “What’s stupid,” he said, drawing his horse to an abrupt halt, “is flirtingwith Gary and Raoul right in the middle of a the party – do you really want to let everyone in that hall know your secret?  Because there’s easier ways!”

“_Flirting?_  You – Mithros!“  Alanna squinched her eyes shut and wished very hard for a moment that she was not Jonathan’s squire,  so she could just gallop ahead and give her temper a chance to cool off, and let Jonathan catch up to _her _if he could.  But instead she halted her horse, and contented herself with giving him her most ferocious glare.  “If that’s flirting, then you flirt with Roger every time you talk to him!  We’re just _talking!_  How is it different?”

“It’s different because –”

“Because I’m a girl?” Alanna interrupted, too angry to let him finish.  “Because I’m a girl, I can’t have _friends_?” 

“You have no idea,” Jon said, through gritted teeth.  “Do you remember when Gary and Raoul and I were all fighting over Delia –”

“Yes, and I thought you were all numbskulls!  Delia _wanted _you all to be in love with her.  I don’t!  Gary and Raoul don’t even know I’m a girl, and even if they _did _know, I still wouldn’t flirt with them!”

Jon raised his eyebrows.  Some days Alanna caught herself thinking those straight black eyebrows were handsome; right now was definitely not one of those times. “And what’s wrong with Gary and Raoul?”

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another!  Alanna threw up her hands in frustration, then remembered she was holding the reigns when the horse snorted and raised its head in protest and hastily lowered them again.  “Nothing is wrong with them!  But they’re my friends, and I don’t want to flirt with my friends or kiss them or anything, and that wouldn’t change whether I was a boy _or _a girl.  That’s _all._”

There was a long and interesting pause, as Alanna stopped to considered what she had just said, in the light of what had happened at the Drell River.  Apparently Jon was considering it too. 

“So –”

“You’re different,” Alanna said, before he could say whatever it was he was going to say.  She could feel her face turning red, and was grateful for the evening dark.  “I’m your squire, and –”  Her conversation with Alex intruded for a moment into her mind, and she pushed it back.  Whatever it was with her and Jonathan, it wasn’t the same as what Alex had been talking about with Roger.  Jonathan made her feel a number of other things besides bone-deep exhaustion (although of course one of those things was massive frustration.)

It wasn’t that she was Jon’s squire; it was that Jon was _Jon, _and she couldn’t put it better than that.  “– I don’t know what you are.  But it’s different.”

“Does that mean we’re not friends?” said Jon.  He sounded almost amused now.

Alanna didn’t want to plaster more confusing words onto something that was already confusing.  “Of course we are,” she muttered.  “But it’s _different.  _So don’t take it out on Gary and Raoul.”

Jon kept looking at her, and it was making her feel funny.  Her role as squire, for the moment, could be damned.  Alanna brought her knees in and squeezed the barrel of the horse’s chest; her mount took off in a sudden spurt of speed, leaving Jonathan looking after her. 

**Comrades**

“It’s been a while since we were all here,” Jon said.

They weren’t all there.  Alex was off doing something for Roger – as usual, goodness only knew what – and Francis, of course, was longer gone, though sometimes Raoul wondered if anyone remembered Francis besides himself.

But Jon looked less tense, almost normal – and though Gary was right, he did seem a bit inclined to monopolize Alan, and scowled when Gary gave the squire a friendly clap on the shoulder, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it was at those awful palace parties.  Gary was grinning, and Alan looked happier than he had in a while.

“It’s good to be out of the palace,” Alan said, heaving a sigh.

“It’s good to be out of _armor,”_ said Gary.  “Ah, for the civilian life.  Our host doesn’t know how lucky he has it.”

“Hey,” said Alan, bristling and ready to jump to his friend’s defense,  “George isn’t –”

“George isn’t really a civilian,” said Jon, at the same time.

Gary eyed the two of them sardonically, and visibly chose not to make a comment on their habit of speaking in time.  Instead, he laughed.  “I just meant sometimes I think it would be nice not to have to go back.  To squires and knights and chains of command and all the rest of it.  Isn’t it better like this?  Just like old times.”

“Hey,” said Raoul, and Gary blinked over at him.

“Yes?”

“Didn’t you bet me it wouldn’t ever be like old times again?” said Raoul.  “You owe me ten nobles.”

Everyone laughed – even Gary, though he pulled an elaborate face as he pulled out his purse – and Raoul felt pleased that he’d been able to make them laugh, and more pleased that, for the moment at least, they were all laughing together.

 


End file.
